


Someone To Watch Over Me

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a short Whump D'Artagnan story that I promised to write for the Whump Queen DebbieF.   I hope you like it, sweets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DebbieF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/gifts).



Athos paced around the wooden table, ignoring Aramis' pleas that he join him and Porthos for their evening meal. Hunger wasn't an issue. Athos was far too worried to even consider eating. It was almost dark and their youngest brother, D'Artagnan, had yet to return from the errand Athos had asked him to run for him.

 

"I never should never have sent him..." he muttered, as he completed yet another circuit around the table. Only to come to a stop when Porthos suddenly blocked his way.

 

The big man sighed. "Athos, you need to have some faith in D'Artagnan. He hasn't been gone all that long."

 

Athos glared at his friend, his blue eyes narrowing and growing dark with anger as he snarled, "He's been gone since dawn and now it's almost sundown! He should have returned long ago! Something is wrong!" He could feel it. Stepping around Porthos, Athos headed for the stable. "I'm going after him!" he called over his shoulder.

 

"Hold up!" Aramis shouted, rising from the table and patting Porthos on the shoulder as they both moved to follow. They caught up as Athos entered the stable and Aramis grabbed Athos by the arm and spun him around. "We're coming with you, my friend. D'Artagnan is our brother too."

 

"Keep up or I'll leave you behind," Athos warned, but he let his lips curve in an slight smile to let his friend know that he appreciated the company.

 

Minutes later they were on the road and Athos kept up a silent litany of reminders to himself that D'Artagnan was a Musketeer, he could take care of himself, he would no doubt meet up with them any minute now...and so on and so on. Only time continued to pass without any sign of the young Gascon.

 

Suddenly Porthos cried out, "What's that coming towards us?"

 

By the luck of the full moon they could see well enough to make out a horse fast approaching. A horse that Athos' recognized.

 

"D'Artagnan's mount!" he shouted, moving to intercept the riderless animal. 

 

"He looks spooked," Aramis commented, dismounting and grabbing the reins before stroking the sweating neck of the horse and speaking soothingly to it.

 

Athos felt fear ripple through him. "Where the hell is D'Artagnan? He's a good rider, he wouldn't have just fallen off."

 

Porthos moved to Athos's side. "Don't create trouble where it might not exist," he warned. "Let's just continue on and we'll find D'Artagnan soon enough."

 

"Bring his horse," Athos ordered, even as he set off again at a canter. His stomach had coiled into a knot of pure dread and he feared what he would find. He had not prayed in a long time, but he was praying now, pleading with Aramis' God to let D'Artagnan be alive and well.

 

"I see something!" Porthos called out, pointing up ahead to where a dark lump lay to the side of the road.

 

Athos was off his horse and running to the form in a heartbeat. Even as he fell to his knees he knew who it was. "D'Artagnan..." he whispered, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch the young man's face. His fingertips encountered wetness and Athos stared in horror at the blood that stained them. "Aramis!" he bellowed. 

 

Aramis was quick to join him, his hands moving over D'Artagnan to assess his condition and exhaling a sigh of relief. "He's breathing."

 

"He's hurt." Athos held up his bloody fingers. 

 

"Head injury and the blood is damp so it happened not that long ago," Aramis stated. He patted the boy gently on the cheek, trying to rouse him. "D'Artagnan? Can you hear me?" It worried him a bit that the Gascon did not stir. "We need to get him inside somewhere, so I can take care of him better."

 

Porthos crouched down beside them, worry creasing his face. "There's a tavern back the way we came, not too far from here. I've been there a time or two. It's not much..."

 

Athos nodded. "I know the place. I'll take D'artagnan with me." Even as he spoke he mounted Roger and held out his arms. He watched Porthos lift D'Artagnan's limp form and he felt fear ripple through him once more as the boy was placed before him. He wrapped one arm around the slender waist and waited only long enough for Aramis to drape his cloak over D'Artagnan before clucking his tongue and setting Roger off at a steady walk. He had to fight the urge to gallop, knowing that he would only cause the boy further harm if he rushed.

 

It seemed to take forever to reach the tavern, Porthos there just ahead of him and dismounting to rush over and take D'Artagnan into his arms. Aramis already inside, having galloped off ahead to get things as ready for the boy as he could. Athos dismounted, his arms aching with loss as he moved to follow Porthos inside the tavern. He took no notice of the patrons, blindly following the big Musketeer up the stairs and into a back room. He stood in the doorway, watching as Porthos gently laid D'Artagnan on the narrow bed.

 

Aramis had a basin of water and cloths at the ready and he pulled a chair to the bed, sitting down and going straight to work cleaning the wound on D'Artagnan's temple. He winced in sympathy and he cleaned the cut and swollen area, but his focus and his hands were steady as he carefully stitched the wound closed, keeping it neat and close to the hairline so that the scar would be mostly hidden when it healed.

 

"Why isn't he awake yet?" Athos demanded, from where he paced from one corner of the room to the other, relentlessly striding back and forth. 

 

"Head injuries are tricky things, Athos," Aramis replied, turning to look at his friend before rising and blocking his path. "D'Artagnan is young and strong, he will wake up."

 

Athos could not hide his doubt or his fear. "When?" he pleaded.

 

Aramis gripped his shoulder, offering what comfort he could, meager though it was. "When he is ready."

 

"The whelp is stubborn," Porthos interjected. "He can't be rushed any more than you can. But he'll back with us soon. I'm going to get us some food and wine to bide our time while we wait." With that he headed out of the room, clapping Athos on the shoulder as he passed, offering his own brand of reassurance.

 

"Go sit with him," Aramis ordered, pushing Athos into the empty chair by the bed. "I'm going to clean up then help Porthos with our meal." With that he left the room as well, closing the door behind him.

 

Athos sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and feeling a heavy weariness settling over him. He hated waiting, he would much rather be doing something, and yet there was nothing he could do for D'Artagnan but wait. So he settled himself as comfortably as he could in the chair and watched as the boy slept on.

 

A soft moan from D'Artagnan nearly tumbled Athos from the chair in his haste to rise and lean over him. 

 

"D'Artagnan," Athos whispered, hopefully, and he was rewarded with dark lashes fluttering against pale cheeks and eventually dark eyes staring up at him. "There you are, finally." Relief washed over Athos, leaving him feeling almost dizzy.

 

D'Artagnan frowned, one hand lifting to his head, only to be captured by Athos' hand before he could prod the injury. "Wha' happened?" he mumbled. 

 

Athos shrugged, reaching out with his free hand to smooth a lock of brown hair off the boy's forehead. He couldn't help but notice how his hand trembled. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly to calm himself then countered, "You tell me. You were late coming back and we found your horse but no you."

 

"Hurts..." D'Art whispered, trying to point to his head with the hand Athos still held. 

 

"You hit your head on a rock, but Aramis believes you'll be just fine," Athos stated, just in time for the others to enter the room and hear him.

 

Aramis hurried to D'Artagnan's side, cupping the boy's face and studying his eyes. He held up his hand. "How many fingers do you see, D'Artagnan?"

 

The Gascon frowned, pointedly studying the sharp-shooter's hand. "F-four?"

 

The others looked at the two fingers Aramis was holding up and Athos felt fear ripple through him once more.

 

Sensing Athos' concern, Aramis replied, "Close enough. Do you feel nauseous, D'Artagnan?"

 

"A lil'...m'tired," the words were mumbled and somewhat slurred and the boy's eyes were fluttering closed.

 

"Sleep, we'll watch over you," Aramis beseeched him, reaching for the blanket they had covered D'Artagnan with and tucking it around him more securely. He waited until the boy's eyes were closed and his body had relaxed back into slumber before pulling the others into the corner of the room. He held up a hand to stop Athos' from ranting. "Blurred vision is not uncommon with a head injury," he stated. "He was able to answer my questions which is a good sign and he knows who he is."

 

Athos still felt on edge as he offered, "He knew who I was as well."

 

Aramis smiled, looking pleased. "That's good. That's very good. He just needs to rest and heal."

 

"We've got stew and bread and wine," Porthos offered, steering Athos to the table across the room where he'd placed their meal. "Let's eat then we'll take turns watching over the whelp." He made Athos sit and placed a bowl of mutton stew in front of him. "Eat."

 

"I'll take first watch," Athos replied, trying to push the bowl aside, only for Porthos to push it back again.

 

Aramis held out a spoon. "You need to eat to keep up your strength."

 

Athos knew when he was overruled so he took the spoon and managed one bite. "Treville needs to know where we are and that we'll be gone for a time."

 

"Already taken care of," Porthos replied, around a mouthful of stew. For which he earned a glare from Aramis and a kick under the table, which he returned.

 

"What do you mean it's taken care of?" Athos prompted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's antics.

 

Aramis scowled as he rubbed his shin, then said, "We sent a messenger to the Garrison letting Treville know that D'Artagnan was found, that he's injured, and we'll return once he's able to travel in a few days."

 

Athos was impressed. "You've thought of everything," he conceded, reaching for his wine glass but only indulging in a swallow or two. He wanted a clear head as he kept vigil over D'Artagnan. He needed to be focused and aware should the boy take a turn for the worse. 

 

"We are just that good," Porthos countered, grinning and raising his glass in a mock toast. He then managed to coax Athos into a few more bites of stew before he and Aramis settled in on the floor in the corner to catch some sleep before their respective watches.

 

"Goodnight," Athos offered, before settling himself in the chair by D'Artagnan's bed. He simply watched the boy for a time, watching the rise and fall of the lean chest, until he heard a soft whimper and he leaned in to whisper, "D'Artagnan, it's Athos. It's okay. You're safe...just sleep."

 

After a moment D'Artagnan settled back down into slumber and Athos continued his vigil. Only a few minutes later D'Artagnan started to gag and Athos knew what that meant. He grabbed the bucket that Aramis had, thoughtfully, placed by the bed and he hauled D'Artagnan up and over it just in time for the Gascon to empty his stomach. It was painful to watch, for it was obvious that the retching caused the boy great pain. By the time he was done, D'Artagnan was sweaty, trembling and whimpering. 

 

Aramis had woken up at the commotion and he took care of the bucket and brought water for D'Artagnan to rinse his mouth. He also brought a damp cloth to wipe him down as he and Athos tried to settle D'Artagnan more comfortably.

 

Only D'Artagnan refused to lie still. "Hurts..." he whimpered, trying to sit up and succeeding only when Athos pulled him up to rest against him. His fingers clutched at Athos' shirt front as he tucked his head beneath Athos' chin. He was still trembling.

 

"What do we do?" Athos pleaded with Aramis, hating to see D'Artagnan suffering so, especially since he blamed himself for the boy being in this condition. If he hadn't sent him on the errand, D'Artagnan wouldn't be in this condition. 

 

"Let him rest against you," Aramis advised, moving to help Athos sit on the bed, propped up against the wall by several pillows. "I think lying flat makes his head ache more and his stomach sick. He's much better sitting up." Aramis smoothed dark hair back from D'Artagnan's sweaty forehead. "He's already settling back into sleep."

 

Athos nodded, noting how the trembling had eased as the slender body relaxed against him. "Go back to sleep," he told his friend. "We're good."

 

Aramis smiled. "Call if you need me." With that he returned to the floor and soon drifted off to sleep.

 

"Forgive me, D'Artagnan," Athos whispered to the boy. "I wish I could take your suffering as my own. But I will watch over you...so rest easy, my friend." Athos rubbed a hand down D'Artagnan's back as he continued to whisper apologies and promises to the boy until he found himself drifting off as well.

 

Sunlight flooded the room and Athos awoke with a start when D'Artagnan shifted against him and groaned. Instantly alert and concerned he asked, "Are you all right? Are you going to be sick again?"

 

D'Artagnan sighed and whispered softly, with a touch of embarrassment, "I have need of the chamber pot."

 

"Of course." Moving carefully, Athos shifted out from under the boy and rose to his feet, he then set about getting D'Artagnan up with as little fuss as possible and helped him to stand while he took care of his needs. He then helped D'Artagnan wash his face and hands before settling him back in bed, propped up against the pillows. "How are you feeling?"

 

"I've been better," D'Artagnan allowed, shading his eyes against the bright glare of the sun.

 

Athos jumped up to close the shutters, bringing the room into soft gray shadows. He also took note of the fact that Aramis and Porthos were absent and he could guess they were taking care of the horses and procuring breakfast. Sitting down in the chair by the bed, he studied D'Artagnan. "You look a bit better," he stated. "My apologies," D'Artagnan," he offered. 

 

The Gascon frowned, winced, then rubbed carefully at his forehead. "Apologies for what?"

 

"It's my fault you got hurt," Athos began.

 

"Rubbish!" D'Artagnan interjected, cutting him off. "It's my own fault. Well, truly it's the fault of the damn snake that crossed our path. My horse is terrified of snakes and he tossed me off before I could react. I remember you telling me I hit my head on a rock."

 

Athos nodded and smiled at the realization that D'Artagnan remembered their earlier conversation. That was most definitely a good sign. "May I ask why you were so late in returning? I had expected you back at the garrison before supper time."

 

D'Artagnan sighed and looked at his hands, pointedly avoiding Athos' gaze. "I got side-tracked. I delivered you message and there was a wedding going on at the town and they invited me and it seemed rude to turn down the invitation. To be honest, I lost track of time. I knew you'd be worried and I was hurrying back when the snake appeared and the next thing I knew I hit the ground and that was that. Until I saw the lot of you. Thank you for finding me."

 

"We will always come for you, D'Artagnan," Athos replied. "You know that."

 

"I do know." D'Artagnan looked at his mentor and he saw warmth and worry and affection in the blue eyes. It made him feel safe and that meant more to him than he would ever be able to convey. "I'm sorry if I worried you. Treville won't be happy with me."

 

Athos shrugged, but he wasn't going to lie to the boy. Treville would be glad they found D'Artagnan and that he was safe, but he would also have a few words for the Gascon when they returned. "Just don't get distracted again."

 

Fighting back a smile, D'Artagnan promised, "I'll do my best. Are we leaving soon?"

 

"A few days," Athos replied. "You won't be able to ride until you heal a bit more. Are you hungry?"

 

"Not really." D'Artagnan felt anything but. "Just a bit tired."

 

Athos stood up and smoothed the blanket over D'Artagnan. "Then sleep, gather your strength. I'll be nearby if you need me." With that he watched as D'Artagnan drifted off before joining the others below. 

 

Aramis caught sight of him first. "How is D'Artagnan? I was just heading back up to check on you both."

 

"He woke up and he's better, just tired," Athos replied. 

 

"And how are you doing?" Porthos prompted.

 

Athos scowled at him. "I'm perfectly fine. You ask that as if there was something wrong with me."

 

Porthos shrugged, dark eyes gleaming with merriment. "Your words, not mine," he taunted, only to cry out in pain and outrage as Athos smacked him hard on the back of the head. "What was that for?"

 

"Because I can," Athos drawled, accepting a wedge of bread and cheese from Aramis. "Why don't the two of you return to the Garrison and update Treville. I can take care of D'Artagnan until he's ready to ride." He looked to the sharp-shooter. "He should be on the mend, correct?"

 

"Should be," Aramis allowed. "We'll stay until dinner time then head back to be sure."

 

That sounded fair enough to Athos so he simply nodded and forced himself to eat his meal. He didn't say a word but simply headed back upstairs to sit with D'Artagnan, watching over the boy.

 

The next two days passed much the same way. Aramis and Porthos had returned to the Garrison and D'Artagnan got better in leaps and strides, having issues only with moving too fast which would make him dizzy, and he being in the sun or any strong light made his head ache. So it was dusk when they finally made their way home, four days after the accident occurred.

 

"Athos," D'Artagnan called out to his mentor, as they rode along in companionable silence for a time.

 

"D'Artagnan?" Athos drawled, his smirk hidden by the shadows.

 

"Do you want to race back?" the Gascon queried. He was feeling better overall and the plodding pace Athos had set for them was grating on his nerves.

 

Athos heaved a dramatic sigh before replying, "I do not."

 

There was a long moment of silence before D'Artagnan countered, "Do you want to sing songs to pass the time? Porthos taught me some bawdy ditties that are rather fun to sing."

 

"Do you want me to knock you off your horse again?" Athos shot back, in a perfectly serious tone, even though he knew the boy was simplying playing with him. It was nice to have the old D'Artagnan mostly back. 

 

"Maybe later," D'Artagnan allowed, unable to hold back a chuckle. "So what do you want to do?" He was feeling bored still.

 

Athos considered how to reply and after a moment he offered, "Did I ever tell you the story of how Porthos' horse got stung by a bee and bucked him off into a mud puddle?"

 

D'Artagnan's delighted laughter filled the night air, lifting Athos' spirits. "You did not," D'Artagnan stated. "Please, do tell. And do not leave out any details."

 

So Athos told that tale and several more, including one about himself. And he found himself smiling all the way home.

 

THE END.


End file.
